“You, too. Recognize the dress?” I let out a nervous laugh, regretting the comment immediately.
Andrea blinks, playing dumb, which I find mostly kind, but also annoying since I’m then forced to say, “I had it on the other night.”
“Oh, yes! I do remember it now,” she says, nodding effusively. “It’s such a pretty dress.”
“Thank you,” I say, allowing myself a quick glance at Will, who peers up at me, his dark eyes shining in the candlelight. I can’t read his expression, but his half smile makes my chest ache.
“Hi, Josie,” he says, then shifts his gaze to Pete, now directly beside me. When Andrea does the same, I feel forced to make an introduction.
“Pete, this is Andrea and Will. I teach their daughter,” I say as succinctly as possible.
Pete nods, smiles, and says, “Ah. Nice.”
“So?” Andrea asks with a girlfriendy lilt. “Are y’all on a date?”
I say no just as Pete replies yes.
Andrea manages to wince and smile at once. “Oops. Sorry. None of my business!”
“No. It really isn’t,” Will mumbles into his wineglass. His tone to his wife isn’t exactly rude, but it is slightly reprimanding, evoking his subtle but pervasive sense of superiority, something I had forgotten or, more likely, buried. I think of how he’d nudge me under the table when I said something he perceived as inappropriate. Sometimes he was right; usually it felt like needless nit-picking. The memory is a slight comfort, offsetting those damn brown eyes.
“No worries,” I say, entirely for Andrea’s benefit. “It’s sort of a date—but we’re really just friends.”
“Yeah, technically this is our second date. But because we had no chemistry on our first date, Josie’s already given up,” Pete says, trying to be funny, but making everything exponentially more awkward. “I still have hope, however.”
Andrea nods earnestly and says, “Yes, these things sometimes take time.”
“Was that how it was for you two?” Pete asks, as I stand there in disbelief that this conversation is actually happening.
“Um. Not exactly,” she mumbles, as Will calmly cuts his next bite of steak, raising his fork to his lips.
The opposite of love is indifference, I remind myself, but feel an intense wave of bitterness.
“Not exactly?” I say with an acerbic laugh. “Not at all. Andrea and Will got engaged very quickly. Immediately after he and I broke up, in fact.” I snap my fingers for dramatic effect.
Pete laughs, then realizes I’m not kidding, his expression mirroring Andrea’s—something between pity and discomfort. Meanwhile, Will begins to cough. The three of us glance at him with mild concern, as the coughing quickly escalates to a disturbing choking sound.
“Honey? Are you okay?” Andrea asks.
Will answers with a loud gasp, then goes silent, his eyes wide, watery, and panicked.
“Will!” Andrea shouts, rising from her seat as the hostess steps toward our table and the couple next to us begin to stare. “Will? Can you breathe?”
He doesn’t reply—because clearly he cannot breathe—as Andrea yells, to no one in particular, “He’s choking!” She looks around the restaurant and shouts, “Is there a doctor? Does anyone know the Heimlich maneuver?”
“No. That’s not recommended yet,” Pete says, holding his hand up to calm Andrea while stepping toward Will, intently watching him.
“He’s in the medical field,” I tell Andrea, hoping that physical therapists are trained in choking first aid.
“Try to cough,” Pete calmly instructs Will. “Can you cough at all?”
Will shakes his head, making a faint wheezing sound. Andrea continues to yell for help. I watch in horror, picturing a gruesome image: Edie standing beside her daddy’s casket.
“Okay. Stand up, man,” Pete says, helping Will out of his seat, bracing him with his arm around his waist as he strikes Will’s back with the heel of his hand three times in a row. Thwack, thwack, thwack. Nothing happens, except I notice Will’s lips start to turn a tinge blue. Then, with the fourth hard, loud blow between his shoulder blades, Will heaves the stringy bit of red meat out of his mouth. It lands on the white linen tablecloth, just past his plate. I stare at it, marveling that it could have been as lethal as a bullet to the head, while diners around us begin to clap and cheer. Will gasps for breath.
I watch Andrea put both hands over her heart and rush to her husband’s side, throwing her arms around his neck. He allows a brief embrace, then says something to her under his breath, before pulling away and sitting back down.
“Oh my God, thank you so much,” Andrea says, turning to Pete, tears in her eyes.
Pete modestly shakes off her gratitude and asks Will if he’s all right.